


Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds

by Barcardivodka



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Gen, illya!whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-17
Updated: 2015-09-17
Packaged: 2018-04-21 02:00:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4810556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barcardivodka/pseuds/Barcardivodka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The KGB send Illya Kuryakin a brutal reminder that he is theirs to control.</p><p>UNCLE has other ideas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds

**Author's Note:**

> With many thanks to Jay who tries so hard to turn my ramblings into coherent stories. Any mistakes or errors are mine and mine alone, so please do not steal them.

“Cowboy!!”

Once the tall Russian had cleared the doorway, he crumbled  to his knees, one hand reaching out to steady himself on the doorway frame. He then used it to slowly stand on unsteady feet and it was all that was stopping him from toppling to the floor once more.

As soon as Illya had spoken, Solo reacted, he grabbed his gun from the side table and rushed to the door, he cautiously poked his head out to check the corridor.  Solo was relieved to see no sign of pursuit, which allowed him to return his focus to the hurt Russian.  Solo closed the door and locked it before crouching down beside Illya. 

“Who did this?” Solo demanded as took in the blood that matted his colleague’s hair. He hooked an arm around the larger man’s shoulders, gripped his left bicep and hauled him to his feet.

They staggered to the couch before collapsing onto it in a tangle of limbs. With some effort Solo disentangled himself and pulled the worryingly unresisting Illya up into a sitting position.

“Peril, who did this?” Solo asked once again. He placed his hands either side of the Russian’s head to get a better look at the blood encrusted wound on Illya’s temple. The wound had bled profusely matting Illya’s hair, the collar of his turtleneck was stiff with dried blood. Illya wrapped a huge hand around Solo’s right wrist and tried to push it away, but there was no strength to his grip. Solo released his hold and took a step back, sitting on the coffee table in front of the couch. His knees brushed against Illya’s.

“Peril, I need to know who did this.” Solo asked for a third time. He reached out and gently grabbed Illya’s chin tilting the other man’s head up. Illya blinked owlishly several times but held Solo’s gaze.

“KGB,” he managed to slur out, his accent thicker than usual.

Solo frowned at the answer. They had successfully completed a mission in Paris and were having a few days down time before either flying back to London or onto their next assignment. Gaby was with Waverley in his room, going over the mission reports and Illya had gone to meet a KGB contact to keep his handler happy. Solo knew Waverley wasn’t happy about the meeting, but the meet was to be in a café a few streets away and was to be with a fellow KGB agent, not with Illya’s handler.

The Brit had been very careful to ensure that neither Solo nor Illya had much communication with their CIA or KGB controllers. All requests were to go through Waverly himself and all conversations were recorded. It was certainly something Solo wholeheartedly supported. It was nice to out of Sanders reach.

Waverly, with all his good-humoured and unassuming manner, had a will of steel and the ear of those much further up the scales of power than either controllers could hope to reach.

Solo had also noticed, that while he was allowed to travel home to America when they had long periods between missions, Illya was kept from Russia. It had angered Solo at first, thinking Illya wasn’t trusted, but it quickly became very obvious that the more time Illya spent away from the KGB the better he was at controlling his temper. It could still take the combined efforts of Solo and Gaby to calm the Russian when his temper threatened to explode, but both of them had also become very good at reading Illya’s tells, knowing when an episode was likely to brew up. Illya had managed to keep his temper in check since their third mission in Madrid. A hotel room or two had paid the price on occasion, but it was better to have smashed furniture than scrambling to keep a mission intact.

Solo also came to know that Illya never asked Waverly to return to Russia during their time off and in return Waverly would send Illya off to chess contests instead, sometimes as a competitor, sometimes as a spectator. The Russian would return from such trips relaxed and as near too happy as Solo had ever seen him get. Solo had also learned that a few pointed questions would have the Russian chatting away about the contest and the games, sometimes becoming so enthused that he slipped from English into Russian.

A hand circling his wrist brought Solo from his musings.

“Drugged.” Illya said as Solo looked up at him.

Solo took Illya’s hand from his wrist and pressed his fingers along the pressure point, alarmed to feel Illya’s pulse racing.

“Do you know what they gave you?” He asked urgently.

“Da,”Illya nodded. “LSD,” he laboured out in English.

Solo gently dropped Illya’s wrist. “Do you know the dosage they used?”

“Usual.”

“Well, that’s not so bad,” Solo stated. “Can’t say it’s something I’ve ever taken. I much prefer scotch as my method of unwinding, but LSD is generally a pleasant experience.”

“Not for me, Cowboy.” Illya pushed himself straighter on the couch. “We are given drugs in training, so that we can identify what has been given to us if we are tortured on a mission,” he continued in Russian. “LSD is not pleasant for me. I… I cannot stay in control. It … it frightens me,” he confessed as shame coloured his pale cheeks.

Solo patted his knee. “Why did your own people do this to you?” He replied in Russian.

“To remind me who I belong to,” Illya answered bitterly. “To make me understand that one day I will return to KGB and I must not go back to them in shame.”

“So you get a night filled with terror to remember to stay loyal?” Solo summed up.

Illya nodded wearily.

“Right, let’s get you cleaned up and into bed.” Solo stood and helped Illya up, who swayed alarmingly causing Solo to tighten his grip.

“I cannot fight it anymore,” Illya whispered out in despair.

“You’re not going through this alone, Peril.” Solo promised as he manoeuvred them towards the bedroom. “Gaby and I will be here with you.”

Illya flopped almost boneless onto the bed, but kept a fist wrapped in Solo’s shirt. “No. I do not want Gaby to see me like this. Please, do not let her see.”

“She won’t be happy,” Solo said. “You’ll have to live with the consequences,” he added with a smile.

“I can do this.” Illya offered a weak smile back. “You will need to tie me to bed,” he said, switching back to English. “I will get violent. I will not recognise friend from … not friend,” he frowned, “not right word.”

“Foe.”

“Da. Foe.” He repeated in Russian.

“There are no foes here, Illya. You’re amongst friends,” Solo reassured him sincerely.

 

MFU MFU MFU MFU

 

“How’s Mr Kuryakin this morning?” Alexander Waverly asked cheerily as he walked into the suite of rooms.

Solo dipped the morning newspaper he’d been reading and returned Waverly’s smile. “He’s still sleeping. The chlorpromazine  seems to have counteracted the worse of the LSD,” he reported. “Gaby’s keeping watch over him at the moment.”

“Ah, excellent.” Waverly replied as he helped himself to a cup of tea from the room service trolley. “You didn’t need to restrain him?”

“No. Thankfully.” Solo looked towards the bedroom, before looking back to Waverly, who had taken a seat in one of the armchairs. “How was last night?”

“Most successful. Although our Mr Kuryakin did quite a number on his colleagues all by himself. All six of them. One of them will certainly never walk without a limp again.” Waverly replied with a satisfied smile. “I put Michaels in charge of the operation. He was quite diligent in conveying my disapproval over the treatment of my agent. I also had a very fruitful conversation with the KGB Director earlier this morning. A most satisfying outcome, I feel.”

Solo smiled. After he had put Illya to bed he had telephoned Waverly. Within the hour a doctor had arrived and administered a drug called chlorpromazine to counteract the worse of the LSD. It would leave Illya feeling groggy and uncoordinated for a couple of days, but the night had passed reasonably quietly, except for one nightmare that had Illya thrashing and fighting the bedcovers as he called out in anguish for his father. Solo didn’t even want to think what Illya would have had to suffer through if the LSD had not been neutralised.

Waverly was driven to a rare display of anger over what had happened to the Russian and had been quick to call a team in to hunt down the KGB agents and remove them back to Russia as roughly and as violently as possible. Solo and Gaby had immediately volunteered, but with a squeeze to their shoulder Waverly had refused. His softly spoken, “Mr Kuryakin needs you more,” had quelled their thirst for vengeance and they had spent the night talking and reading to Illya. If he was aware of them being there was another matter entirely.

Solo almost felt sorry for the KGB agents when Waverly had mentioned Michaels. The man was ex-SAS and was the same height and build as Illya. Solo wasn’t sure if it was a tall thing, but the two men, had somewhat unbelievingly, hit it off. Michaels would have unleashed hell on the KGB agents. It would also seem Waverly had used the last of his anger on informing the KGB Director that Illya Kuryakin was, for the foreseeable future, an UNCLE agent and to stay the hell away from him.

“Do you think he’ll defect over this?” Waverly suddenly asked, looking troubled at the question.

Solo shook his head. “Peril may not be fond of the KGB right now, but he loves Russia. I don’t think he could walk away from his country knowing he may never be able to go back.”

“Perhaps things will change between the Soviet Union and the West in the years to come and Mr Kuryakin will never be required to make that kind of choice,” Waverly replied. “But, between now and then, I feel UNCLE will be going from strength to strength and will keep all three of you busy.” He flicked out his newspaper, picked up his tea cup and became engrossed in the paper.

Solo folded his paper up and placed it on the coffee table as he stood up and walked towards the bedroom. As he pushed the door open Gaby looked up from where she sat next to the bed with one of Illya’s large hands clasped between both of hers. He smiled at her as he took a seat on the other side of the bed. Gaby returned his smile.

Solo had no idea where they would all be in the years to come, but for now he was content to be with and work alongside two people who had earned the trust and loyalty he thought he could never give again. He reached out and wrapped his hand around Illya’s wrist, feeling the strong, steady pulse.

He hoped Waverly was right and that UNCLE would be around for a very long time to come, that there would never be any need for any of them to become CIA, KGB or MI6 agents again. That regardless of their nationality, their loyalty would be to the continued fight to give peace to all the citizens of the world.

What a wonderful world that would be.

**Author's Note:**

> Title of story taken from The Beatles song - which apparently has nothing whatsoever to do with LSD!


End file.
